


Promise

by OurLittleSecretOkay



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: Begging, F/M, Manipulation, PWP, Power Dynamics, Submission, also grooming, by association, just tons of gaslighting, lots of grooming, major gaslighting, school au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2019-09-20 15:49:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17025552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OurLittleSecretOkay/pseuds/OurLittleSecretOkay
Summary: I am not a good person.16 y/o Violet is not a happy camper and adults continue to be the worst.AU of an AU, featuring school psychiatrists, liars, female hysteria, and more liars





	1. Chapter 1

“Are you listening to me, Miss Baudelaire?” 

She takes a moment before looking back at the concerned doctor. It takes her another moment to remember that he probably isn't concerned and isn't really a doctor. He's a pseudo shrink, and not even a good one at that. She glances to the degrees on the wall, wonders again if they're real. 

“Of course.”

“You've seemed distant lately. What's going on, Miss Baudelaire?” He says her name again, as if that will make her any more forthcoming. 

“Isn't it your job to tell me?” She can't resist the sharpness in her chest, but guilt immediately overtakes her. “I'm sorry,” she rubs her eyes, “I didn't mean to snap.”

“I've heard you've been skipping your other appointments. Your care team is worried.”

She sighs, cheek resting on her hand. He's been her doctor since the unexplained, or at least, unsatisfactorily explained disappearance of the last doctor (not a doctor, she reminds herself). She thinks the last man, her school psychiatrist, had been the one who pushed for her to be hospitalized, had told the staff she was a danger to herself. Barely a session into her placement, he'd left with nary an excuse. As it turns out, it was a pattern in formation. Few adults here felt the need to explain or apologize to her. And then, out of nowhere, he had come. And as much as she had tried to hate him, he was actually alright. He was kind to her.

“I'm fine.”

He smiles, tilts his head as he looks at her as if she very much doesn't know what she's talking about, “How have you been sleeping?” 

For a moment, she stiffens, guiltily wonders if he knows. But no, he can't; she hasn't told anyone about the dreams. Reflexively, she looks at his hands, feels a tingle along the base of her spine. No, he doesn't know. 

“Fine enough.” Pursing her lips tight, she leans back, tries not to remember the way her body ached when she awoke that morning. It always felt the same, that horrible emotion as bliss faded into disappointment. 

“You know you can trust me. I'm very good at keeping secrets,” he reaches into the bowl on the desk, offers her a piece of candy. There is a moment of hesitation before she takes it, their fingers touching. He smiles. 

“You don't need to know all of them.”

“But you do have secrets?”

“Doesn't everyone?” She unwraps the candy slowly, makes sure he is watching as she slides it onto her tongue. He uncrosses and recrosses his legs. 

“Miss Baudelaire. You know I am only trying to help.”

“Yes.”

“And I can't do that without your cooperation.” And then he does that thing he always does, leans in to place a hand on her knee. She is glad she wore a skirt today. “Don't you trust me, Miss Baudelaire?” His eyes bore into her as she shrugs. She does actually like him. He's the only adult who's nice to her. He brings her things sometimes, which is why she doesn't ever skip his sessions; they're the only ones she never misses. Of course, that makes the dreams all the worse. It's a bad thing, to have those kinds of thoughts about the man who's been so kind to her. But still, she has them. A month ago she almost thought he might have them too; at the end of session he had held onto her just a moment too long after spending all session with a hand on her leg. But no, she was probably just lonely. With a start, she realized he had been talking.

“-so important that you trust me. I need you to be able to tell me everything.”

“I do trust you, Sir.” She meets his eyes, sees a twinkle in them at her words. “You're the only one I do; you know that.”

All the others thought she was crazy. A crazy girl; that's all she ever was and ever would be. Somehow they had gotten the notion that she was utterly mad, and now she couldn't so much as speak without them trying to medicate her for it. It was lonely; desperately lonely. 

“So what's the matter, then? Boy trouble, perhaps?” There was that twinkle in his eye again.

“I haven't got time for that.” It isn't a lie, not really. 

“Sexual interest in a girl your age is normal, Miss Baudelaire. It concerns me that you seem behind. Have you heard of Freudian theory?” 

The first time he had brought up her… personal… life, she hadn't had room in her body to feel anything other than embarrassment. But as the sessions continued, he had continued to ask her all sorts of questions about the tucked-away parts of her. Talking with him about sex was comfortable at this point. She appreciated that, how he talked to her like an adult. 

“I just don't like any boys.”

“Girls?”

“I guess the thing is,” she hesitates, weighs the truth, “I don't like any boys my age.”

He cocks his eyebrow, smiles, “Good, I'm glad we're finally making progress on that front. Now, what's been keeping you from sleeping?”

She sighs, takes her time sliding her legs open nonchalantly so that he's certain to see the inside of her thighs, “It's nothing, just dreams. Silly things.” 

“You don't seem the type to become preoccupied over silly things.” 

She feels her stomach twist as he smirks.

“You'd be wrong, Sir.”

“You're allowed to call me by my name, you know.”

“You don't call me by mine.”

“It would be improper.”

“Maybe I like improper things,” the words are out before she can stop them, but his immediate smile wipes away any guilt she might have had. He buries the smile quickly of course, but doesn't take his hand off her leg. 

“Do you, Miss Baudelaire?”

“Everytime you say that, I feel like I'm under a microscope,” she stands up although it doesn't really upset her, walks over to the window. 

“I didn't mean to offend,” he stands as well, follows her.

“I'm not, it's just- Sorry, I must be more on edge than I thought.”

“Don't apologize for your feelings,” he takes her hand, rubs it soothingly. She sighs, looks out the window at nothing in particular.

“I know, but… I'm sorry.” Pulling her fingers from his, she reaches up to open the window. Suddenly it is much too hot in here. Her fingers fumble, still feeling the pressure of his own. 

“Need some help?” He reaches around her, easily slides the top frame down. She freezes, the sudden size of him looming around her. The breeze that comes through is cold, but not nearly cold enough to dispel the suffocating heat of her blush. 

“What type of dreams are they? Nightmares?”

“No.” A part of her wishes they were; it would make things easier. As he rests a hand on her arm, she closes her eyes, imagines how much better it would feel if he'd only hold her a bit tighter. 

“It's almost hard to believe life would bother such a pretty girl,” he smiles and she feels guilty again. “You can tell me; it's okay.”

She imagines leaning over, pressing herself against him. She remembers her dream from last night, the feeling of him hard through his pants, his fingers on her skin. Shivering, she turns to face him, surprised at just how close he is to her. 

“Are you hiding something from me?”

“What makes you think so?” She stiffens her jaw, tries to remember to breath as he brushes her hair behind her ear.

“You're acting skittish. Do I bother you?” He runs his hand down her upper arm placatingly. 

“No, it's not that-”

“If I've overstepped somehow, I apologize.”

“No, you haven't done anything at all,” she places a hand on his without thinking, guilt gnawing her insides as she lets go. 

“Then what-”

“You got a girlfriend, Sir?” 

“Excuse me?” There is the hint of a laugh in his voice when he responds, but he doesn't scold her. “No, I do not. Why?”

She shrugs, her heart racing, “You know everything about me. Why can't I ask you questions?”

“Fair enough. No, I do not have a girlfriend, Miss Baudelaire.”

“Why? What's wrong with you?”

He chuckles, looks out the window as he crosses his arms, “Because I agree with you. I don't have any interest in girls my age.” 

Somewhere in her chest, something burns.

“No?”

“No.” he drops his voice until it is almost a purr. “I have what some might consider a… fresher taste.”

“Oh,” she can't think of anything else to say, heart ringing in her ears. 

“Any more burning questions?”

“Do you want to hear about my dreams still?” She looks up, meets his eyes.

“Of course,” he gives a stiff smile. “Do you want to sit down?”

“They're different,” she begins, not moving from her spot. “Always different. At least in the beginning. But they always end up the same.”

“Yes? How's that?” 

Despite the heat, she turns around, closes the window, taking her time in the stretch so that he has plenty of time to look her over, “With me. Begging.”

“Begging? So it is a nightmare.” 

“No.” Turning around, she meets his eyes again, sees him swallow. “Sometimes I'm on the couch. Sometimes I'm on the floor. I'm always begging, though.”

“And how does that feel?” His voice is husky, low in his throat.

“Good. Not as good as what comes after, I'm sure.”

“What comes after?”

“I don't know,” she fixes her face in a look of innocence, “I always wake up before you do anything.”

“I can see how such dreams could be tiring.”

“That's why I'm hoping you can help me, Sir.”

“You want my help?”

“Please, Sir. I'm…” she bites her lip, gut telling her this is a bad idea, “begging.” 

His lip twitches in and out of a smirk as he cocks his head. “Are you familiar with the term 'Jailbait,’ Miss Baudelaire?” 

She shifts her footing, tugs at her skirt, “Are you trying to give me another diagnosis, Sir?”

“Perhaps. Care for the definition?”

For the first time in her life, she wants a word she already knows bluntly reduced for her by a condescending adult. “If it's no trouble.”

“It’s another word for a very pretty little girl who has suddenly landed herself in whole lot of trouble.”

“What sort of trouble?” She buries the nervous shake in her voice under a throaty rasp.

“All sorts. Dangerous sorts.”

“I like danger.”

“They always do.”

“What sorts of things do you like, Sir?” desperate to hide the tremor of her body, she keeps her face plain, guiltless.

“I like red things. Red wine. Red raspberries. Red skirts on terribly unkind girls.” Stepping forward, he places his foot between hers. Fighting the instinct to step back, she rolls her shoulders, straightening her posture. 

“Only reds? No blues, or… purples?”

He smiles with the corner of his mouth, showing his teeth, “Oh, sure, sure.” His voice is quiet as it drops into a whisper, “Bruises. Dark blood. Certain… temptations.”

Craning her neck, she gets close enough to his lips that she is certain he can smell the adrenaline on her breath, 

“Are you easily tempted?”

“If I like the prize enough.”

“And do you like danger, Sir?” 

“I like the way it tastes.” His hands finally slide to her waist and it is everything she can do not to melt at the simple heat.

“Just a taste, then.” Doing her best impression of the women on TV, she lowers her eyelids, pushes down the nervousness telling her to break eye contact. 

“A small taste adds up quickly on such a little girl, Jailbait,” brushing his hand up her ribs, he cradles her back, his thumb skirting against the base of her breast as if by accident. 

“And are you easily baited, Sir?” She lets him pull her against his chest, slides her hands up his shoulders the way they do in movies. It must work, because he smiles again, hungrier.

“Evidently.”

When he kisses her, it is not gentle. There is no more slow-wandering; it is a dive into forbidden territory as he presses her hard into the wall. She gasps, and he breaks the kiss, pupils dilated as he looks down at her. Although it is always a mess, his hair is particularly out-of-place, a strand falling over his forehead from the force of shoving her backwards. She can feel the violent, pulsing energy in the air as she pulls him down by the neck, kisses him again. 

His hands are no longer behind her, having fled to her hips, her ribs, her throat. He is pressing her back, back, against the wall, and although he is engulfed in flame, he does not touch her the way she wants. She can feel the itch in her body, the buzzing, consuming itch as he pushes his tongue into her mouth, tilts her head up with both hands. 

When they break for air, panting, she grabs his hands, holds his wrists tight, “Touch me.” The words are heavy, more exhaled than spoken, but he doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, he is very eager in his compliance, quickly squeezing her breast in his open hand.

“You’re putting us both in danger, Miss Baudelaire.”

“Then come have another taste,” catching his face in her hands, she kisses his open mouth, this time quickly pressing her tongue to his. His hands come behind her again for just a moment as he kisses her back, the windowpane beside them radiating cold despite the winter sun. His hand is almost as cold against her abdomen as it pushes up beneath her blouse to cup her breast.

“Feels like lace,” he pinches her, teasing. Reacting involuntarily, she shivers, pulling him closer. 

“I-” she starts to respond, but groans instead as he grinds himself against her, his cock already stiffening as he presses it to her.

“Did you plan this, Jailbait?” His voice is not angry but his tone drops as if she is about to be scolded.

“Perhaps.”

“And here I was, thinking you were a nice girl.” Taking her cheek in his hand, he tilts her head, kisses up along her throat. “Do you know what happens to bad girls here, Miss Baudelaire?” 

“What?” She holds him around his shoulders, desperate to pull him closer, wants to negate the space left between them.

“They get taken to my office.” His tongue slides over her jugular and she gasps, pressing her hips forward against him, wishing very much for him to follow through on the threats his hands are making. “They get punished.”

“Who am I to stand in the way of justice?”

He smirks, kisses her lips, “Who, indeed.” 

Digging his fingers into her thighs, he lifts her up, presses her against the wall. She gasps, clutching at him as he rocks himself against her, pressing between her legs as he pins her to the yellow wall. For a moment, she thinks she might wake up, but then he is moaning into her mouth, and she knows she didn't imagine that. 

His tongue slides against hers as he groans, footing sturdy as he kisses her deeper than she had dared hope. He holds her easily, doesn't seem to have any trouble at all lifting her. She imagines him tossing her onto the couch and whines into the kiss, grip tightening. 

“Are you sorry, Miss Baudelaire?” he growls into her mouth, teeth hitting hers.

“No, Sir,” she resists the urge to apologize, wants to know what his plan of punishment entails if this is how it begins.

It is entirely too soon when he lets her slide down, her feet hitting the floor. She's still holding onto him as he breaks the kiss, both of them gasping for air. Letting her go, he turns around, striding across the office, back to the couch. 

The room is small, cluttered, and habit almost makes it feel like she ought to take the small wooden chair opposite him. He falls onto the blue couch with ease, stretching his arms out across the back as he looks over her. Again, she feels that nervousness in her belly. Only it isn't nervousness; it's excitement.

“So.” He leans back, restraining a wicked smile, “What shall we do with you, Miss Baudelaire?” 

She doesn't respond, instead making sure he watches as she slowly raises her hands to her throat. Delicately, she unbuttons her collar, watches him swallow as he does so. Willing herself to move slowly, she unbuttons the next and the next, until she is untucking her shirt from her skirt, letting it fall over her shoulders onto the floor. 

 

He takes his time looking over her, starts at the navel until he is looking at her lower lip, caught between her teeth. 

“Come here.” He pulls her forward by the hand, places his hands on her waist as he kisses her naked sternum. She shivers, wraps her arms around his shoulders as he begins to move more frantically, fingers digging into her skin.

“Careful,” she gasps, arching away as he pulls down the fabric of her bra, nipping the skin with his teeth. 

“My sincerest apologies,” he says, though he doesn't seem sorry at all. Pushing his hands up her skirt, he digs his fingers into her ass. “Do you know how long I've wanted to do that?”

“How long?” She kisses his lips, hopes he can't feel her shaking. 

“Ever since you ‘accidentally’ dropped your bag and bent yourself over the couch trying to get it.” 

“It was an accident!” 

“This certainly wasn't,” he lifts her skirt up, running his fingers beneath the waist of her panties. “Matching set. And cute, too. How were you so certain today was the day?”

“I wasn't. I've been ready every time for a few weeks now.”

“You mean to tell me I've had a nicely wrapped little present just waiting for me all this time?” 

“I wasn't sure, so I… planned ahead.” 

Unzipping her skirt, he lets it fall to the floor, “You really are bad, aren't you, Jailbait?”

“Is that my name now?” 

“I thought you didn't like proper things? Besides, what other word is there for such a small temptress?” As he pulls her into his lap, she could feel his solid arousal pressing between her legs. Groaning, he holds her down by the hips, grinding up against her. “God… Do you see what trouble you've got me in, Baudelaire?”

“Do you do this often?” She gasps as he scratches down her back, running his tongue over her bare breast. 

“Do I often have life-ruining little girls clamor into my lap? No. Which is why this has to be our little secret.”

“Of course,” she gasps as he pinches her nipple between his teeth. 

“Good. Now do what bad girls do best and get this belt open for me.”

Much more quick than she had been with her own shirt, she pulls his open, sliding it off along with his jacket. She is pleased to note that for such a thin man, he has a good amount of muscle to his frame. As he rewraps her in his grasp, he squeezes her breasts, watching her with delighted interest as she slowly unbuckles his belt, tugging his pants open before pausing.

“Is there a problem, Miss Baudelaire?” His voice is still rough in his throat, but there’s an edge to it now. 

“I… Do you think that maybe-”

“Maybe, what?” 

“If it's as dangerous as you say, should we… not? Or at least, not here?”  

“Miss Baudelaire,” he pinches her breast again, rocking his hard arousal against her. “Are you familiar with the term ‘cock tease?” 

“I could take a wild guess if I wasn’t.”

“See,” he continues as if uninterrupted, “the only thing worse than a very terrible little girl who insists on getting nice men into trouble is a very terrible little girl who is also quite selfish.”

“Do you think I’m selfish, Sir?”

“I don't think it's very fair of you to strip down to your panties and then tell me it's just a joke.”

“It isn't a joke!” Lacing her fingers behind his neck, she kisses him again. “I want you!” 

“Then show me, little tease.”

“Do you want me to beg? I've had lots of practice.” She smiles, but she isn't actually joking. 

“Beg,” there is no reciprocating smile in his tone. 

“Please,” she brings her hands down over his shoulders, feels his chest beneath her hands. 

“You think I'll sacrifice my career for a ‘please’ from a girl who can't behave herself? Try again,” he traces over her cheek with his thumb before tangling his fingers tight in her hair. As he tugs her head back, she gasps. 

“Please, Sir. I'll be good, I promise. No one will know!”

“No one will know what?” he growls.

“No one will know what I did! What I asked you to do.”

“No one?”

“No one! Please, Sir. I really, really want you right now. I'm sorry; please, Sir.”

“What do you want, Jailbait?”

“I want you to fuck me, Sir.”

“Good. Because make no mistake, after the shenanigans you’ve pulled, I fully intend to find out how you look bouncing on my cock.” Again, he tugs her hair back and she gasps, craning her neck as he begins to kiss along her throat. 

“Sir, I-” 

“Quiet now, Baudelaire.” He lets go of her hair, drags his nails back down her back as she arches against his bare chest, skin touching skin as he runs his tongue over her throat. “Go ahead and be a good girl, just for me.” 

Reaching down, she slips her hands beneath the waistband of his pants, tugging his boxers forward until his erection is standing stiff between her thighs.

“See?” He smirks, “I knew you could be a good girl.” 

“Should I-” she pauses, not really sure what to do next. Her dreams rarely got this far. 

“Go ahead and get on your knees for me.” A shiver rakes down her spine like a Jacob’s ladder, rapidly somersaulting out of paralysis as she slides off his lap, onto the floor. “So pretty,” he strokes the side of her face before shoving her head against the inside of his thigh. Catching her hands beside his knees, she pauses before taking him in her hand. “Be a good girl. Be my good girl,” his voice is kind again, a purr as he strokes her hair. Tentatively, she takes the tip into her mouth, presses her tongue against him as he moans, rolling his hips towards her, pushing himself in. “You don't want it to hurt, do you? Get me nice and ready for you.” She doesn't reply, instead sticks out her tongue to lick along the underside of his cock. “Good little girl,” he smiles, the same way he always does, and it makes her feel better. “You've done this before, haven't you, Jailbait? I better not learn I'm getting any other doctor's sloppy seconds.”

“No,” she pulls back, pumping him with her hand. “No, only you.”

“Good. Let's keep it that way. I'm the only one who can help you, and they'll take you away from me if they find out, alright?”

“I won't tell, I swear.”

“Good, I would hate to see you get into trouble.” He pets her hair again, “My good girl.” 

She slides her mouth down over him again, tries not to cough as he holds her, pressing himself further in. After a while, she doesn't have to do much work at all, what with the way he's taken over. Her hands grip him lightly, trying to placate the gap between his need and her ability. A few moments more and he is pushing her back, sucking his breath through his teeth.

“Okay, you have to stop now. I'm too close.”

She wipes the spit from the corner of her mouth, “Was that alright?”

“Come here,” he opens his arms again, smiles like he's genuinely pleased. When she stands, he pulls her panties down over her hips, down to the floor, sliding his other hand along her inner thigh. “I can't believe what you've done,” he sighs, shaking his head. “Little vixen.”

“You won't tell, will you?” For a moment, panic seizes her. 

“No,” he smiles. “I told you, all your secrets are safe with me, Lolita.”

She kneels on the couch, knees pressed to his outer thighs, kisses him on the mouth. He sighs, hands coming up to grip her ass, fingers leaving bruises on her skin. 

“Touch me again,” she murmurs the words against his teeth. 

“Beg me again,” he whispers, tongue pressing up against her own. 

“Please,” she kisses him, “I want to feel you.”

“Where?” 

“All over,” she takes his hand, presses it to her chest. 

“All over?”

“Yes.”

“Even here?” When he touches her, she gasps, his fingers sliding between her legs to press against her clit. “So wet, just from sucking cock?” His voice resonates in his chest as he kisses her throat. “What a good little girl.” He pinches her nipple between his fingers as he kisses her. 

“Ah, Sir, I-” she shudders, groaning, as he rubs at her.

“And so easy, too. Here I was, worried you were behind. Why, you're a regular little whore, aren't you, Miss Baudelaire?” 

The intimacy of her real name makes her tense as she clings to him.

“No, Sir, I-”

“Just for me, then?” He purrs. “How lucky. My own good little girl. Good little whore. Tell me, how often did you dream of having my cock in your mouth?”

“I-” she cannot answer, gasping as he thrusts his fingers inside her. 

“Do you touch yourself and pretend it is me?”

“Sir, I-”

“You've been chasing me for a while, haven't you? Tell me, what would you give to have me inside you?”

“I need you-”

“How badly do you want it, Jailbait? Let me hear you.” A high moan escapes he as he continues playing with her. 

“I want you! Please, Sir, please.”

“Very nice. Now. Have you been a good enough girl? Shall I fuck you now?”

“Please!” She is whimpering, groaning, practically writhing in his lap. 

“You want my cock inside you?”

“Yes!”

“Say it.”

“I want your cock inside me!”

“Because you're my good girl?”

“I'm yours, only yours!”

“Beg.”

“Please, fuck me, Sir! I want you to fuck me! I want-” her words dissolve into a gasp as he thrusts inside her, actually managing to get most of the way in. 

“Fuck, you're so tight,” he holds her down by the hips, doesn't respond as she cries out sharply. 

“Careful, you're-” she whines again, fingers digging into his shoulders. 

“Good girl, you're doing so good,” he bucks further in. “Such a good little girl.” 

As she clings to him, she gasps, letting him hold her by the hips as he began rhythmically thrusting into her. 

“Sir, you-” 

“Be nice and quiet for me, alright? We don't want you to get caught, now do we?” Holding her tighter, he begins to bounce her on his lap, moving her easily. “If word gets out, they might ask me to share. And you're my girl, right? Only mine.” She nods, breath leaving hardly any space for words in her mouth. 

“I- Oh my god,” she squeezes her eyes shut, fingers digging into him as he fucks her, tongue moving over her bare skin. 

She doesn't have a real wealth to judge by, but when he is inside her, the only adjective she has is “big.” All of her senses are suffocated by the sensation of him stretching her, filling her, jutting into her. She whimpers in time with his strokes as he presses his body against her clit, makes her dumb with pleasure.

“God, you're so wet; you love this, don't you? You like begging to ride cock.”

“Just yours,” she doesn't open her eyes, doesn't relax her grip. 

“Just mine? Well then. Let's make sure you get your worth.”

In half a second, he has her flipped over on her back, his hands holding her legs up so that her thighs practically touch his shoulders. She gasps, groaning, fingers still raking his back as she feels all the stiffness of him thick inside her, his rough hands pinning her down as he fucks her. She can feel the penetration deep in her belly as he thrusts, hard, holding her to the couch. 

“Is it as good as your dreams, Jailbait?” he growls, voice breathy between clenched teeth.

Every sound that comes out of her turns into a jagged electric pulse as she tries to respond, tries to tell him that no, nothing was ever like this. He thrusts hard, his body a solid presence above her as he kisses her, kisses her gasping mouth, sucking the air from her lungs. Arching her back, she tries to grip him in any way she can, wants him closer, closer. 

“Oh my god- I'm- Fuck, Olaf, I'm so close!” She whines between her teeth, balls her hands into fists.

“Go ahead and show your gratitude, Baudelaire. Go ahead and come around my cock.” 

Maybe it's hearing her name in that voice, or maybe the timing is just right, but she does. Her toes flex, feet pointing as she climaxes, only wishing he could press her further down, would climb atop her entirely. 

Pulling out, he groans, clenches his fist as he continues pumping himself with his hand. 

“On your knees, Violet.” 

Not entirely waiting for her to listen, he grips her hair, pulls her down just in time to press the tip back into her mouth as he sits up. A moment later he is spilling himself onto her tongue with a moan, and she is both scared and confused as he holds her in place. An eternity later, he pulls back, groaning as he lets her go.

“Can't have any evidence,” he sighs, relaxing onto the couch, “and good girls always swallow.” 

Wiping her chin with the back of her hand, she only nods, quiet. There is a moment of quiet, filled only by their thudding hearts and heavy breath. 

“I… can't believe you made me do that.” He pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Was it worth it?” Nervous again, she sits, uneasy. Slowly, he draws his hand away, looks at her.

“Come here,” he opens his arms again, smiles as she curls into his side, head on his chest. “You're very good, Miss Baudelaire, no matter what the others say.” He kisses the top of her head, runs his fingers over her naked arm. “Although, I do think we should increase the number of sessions you have per week.”

“Yes?” she looks up at him, feeling something similar to relief, though she couldn't say why. Maybe she’s just happy he isn't abandoning her. 

“Oh yes,” brushing her hair back, he kisses the top of her head again, “you're my good girl, and I'm going to take care of you. I promise.”


	2. Chapter 2

 

“Close the door behind you, Baudelaire.”

“Of course.” There is a click as she pulls it shut. She has a feeling automatically locking doors are against hospital policy, but she doesn't say anything. “Have you heard anything about scheduling my appeal?”

“I'm sorry, Miss Baudelaire,” he shook his head, “but your request was denied.”

“Why?” Even though it was the reply she had expected, it still hurt to feel that last bit of hope shattered. “You told them I'm fine, didn't you?”

“Unfortunately, your medical team seems to think you're still too sick,” he had the decency to at least look sad, though she got the distinct impression he wasn't really sorry. Guiltily, she pushed the thought down.

“But why? Did they say-”

“Next time. We'll try for next time.”

“I really thought that with your recommendation-”

“All that's left is for us to redouble our efforts. Don't worry, Miss Baudelaire,” squeezing her hand, he held her by the elbow, “I am going to do everything in my power to make sure you end up exactly where you belong.” 

“Thank you, Sir,” her voice was quiet as she nodded her head slowly.

“What's the matter?” he cocked his eyebrow with a smile, “Don't you trust me?”

“Of course I do.”

“I'm the only one who can help you, and I will, but you have to trust me.” 

“You know I trust you,” she squeezed his fingers back.

“Do I? It's hard to tell sometimes. If I'm being completely honest, there are times I worry they're right, that you really do belong here-”

“I'm not a danger to myself, you know that.”

“I know that, but I worry that you might not be so safe once you leave.”

“I'm not going to do anything. I never was!” 

“Miss Baudelaire,” he shook his head slowly, still smiling sadly.

“I mean it! He lied and I don't know why, but-”

“It's okay, calm down,” standing up, he brushed her hair behind her ear, cupped her cheek. “You're alright, just relax. Come sit down.”

“I don't understand why no one will believe me!” Still distressed, she let him guide her over to the couch. 

“I believe you,” sitting her down, he pet her hair soothingly. “I've always believed you. Why does that not count?”

“It does, it does. I'm sorry.” She sighed, massaging the bridge of her nose. 

“You're so tense. Come on; relax,” placing a hand on her knee, he rubbed her skin. 

“How am I supposed to relax?” Looking up at him, she tried not to cry. 

“Now, now. No tears on such a pretty face,” tilting her chin up, he stroked her face. “Come on; show me a smile.” 

“I don't feel much like smiling today,” she tried to brush his hand aside, but he gripped her chin firmly. 

“I'm not letting you go until you smile.” 

“You're going to have to.”

“I absolutely don't, little girl,” leaning in, he gazed over her face interestedly. 

“Sir?” as he leaned in, her breath caught so that she almost forgot she was upset. 

“So much stress is bad for your health. You don't want to undo all of our progress, do you?” 

“No, of course not-”

“Then stop those silly tears and scoot forward for me.” Kneeling on the ground, he placed both his hands on her knees, sliding them apart. 

“What-”

“Tell me, Jailbait; have you ever let a boy kiss you here before?” Gently, he brushed the back of his hand along her inner thigh. 

“No, Sir,” her breath shook as she spoke, heart beginning to race. “Do you-”

“Any men?” Reaching up beneath her skirt, he tugged her panties down over her hips. 

“No.”

“No, what?”

“No, Sir,” her voice grew quieter, stuck somewhere in her throat. 

“Good girl. Of course you haven't.” Digging his fingers into her legs, he tugged her forward. “Let's play a game, Jailbait; shall we?” 

“Game?” 

“It's simple. I kiss you until you tell me to stop.”

“Sounds very simple.”

“Very simple indeed. But there's a twist.”

“What's the twist?” 

“If you do, I get to keep these,” holding her panties up, he folded them into his fist.

“I need those!” she tried to reach for them, but he was quicker. 

“Then you better not ask me to stop.”

“You can't-”

“What's wrong? Scared?”

“Of course not, but-”

“Relax; it's just a game.” With a smile, he leaned down, kissing the inside of her knee. Biting her lip, her legs tried to press together reflexively, but he caught them, holding them open. “Don't lose before we even begin, little girl.” 

“Sir, are you sure-”

“I'm only trying to help you relax. It's a historically documented treatment.” Lingering, he pressed another kiss, higher up her thigh. 

“Is it?”

“Absolutely,” happier now, he slid his tongue against her skin before giving her another kiss. “Besides, what's a little harmless fun?”

“Sir, I-” she squirmed, nervous as he moved further up, lacing his arms under her knees to better hold her still.

“Come on, now. Don't lose before I've even had a taste. I thought you said you trusted me?”

“I do,” she breathed quietly.

“Good. That's my good girl,” this time, he let his teeth pinch her, leaving behind a small purple bruise where he nipped the skin. Gasping, she clutched the arm of the couch. Slowly, he continued up, letting his hands move up along her legs as he continued. “You're doing so well.” 

“Sir,” shaking, she combed her fingers into his hair. 

“Ready to quit already?” Smirking mischievously, he let the side of his face rub against her inner thigh. 

Gasping, she arched her back, tangled his hair in her fingers, “No! No, I just-” biting her lip again, she neglected the end of her sentence. 

“That's what I thought.” Again, he caught her skin between his teeth, sucked hard until a purple carnation bloomed beneath her skin. “Does that hurt?” Still smirking, he looked up at her, amused. 

“Not really,” she shifted her hips again, not wanting to admit it pinched. 

“Good. Because I need to make damn sure you remember you're mine. I intend to leave my signature over every inch of you, Baudelaire; I don't want anyone thinking they can touch you.” 

As he continued up, she bit back the nervous  _ stop  _ in her tongue, “So, what? They'll recognize you by the teeth marks?”

“That's how I leave everything that's mine.” Pulling her legs even further apart, he pressed his face hard to her upper thigh, gripping her as she shook. 

“Sir,” she whined, knees folding over his shoulders.

Pushing his tongue between his teeth, he smiled, dug his nails into her. And then there was nothing but warmth, wet pounding warmth as he slid his tongue over her. Gasping, she pressed back, fingers tight in his hair, holding him. 

“What a good girl,” he murmured against her, purring as she rolled her hips upwards against him. 

“Sir, I-” moaning, she pressed her thighs to his ears. Rough, he snapped her legs open again, humming as he flicked his tongue against her. 

Crying out, she let go of him, shaking hands clutching at the blue fabric of the couch. 

“No,” coming up just long enough to scold her, he grabbed her wrist, forced it back to his head. 

“Sorry! I'm sorry, I-” she moaned loudly, voice climbing to a whine as he flicked the tip of his tongue over her clit. “Oh my god! Oh my god, oh my-”

“Words,” he growled, practically biting her as he opened his mouth wide, pressing his tongue flat against her. 

“I'm sorry, I'm-”

“Words!”

Gasping, she tried incredibly hard to keep her legs from seizing, “Yes, Doct- Olaf- SIR! I'm-” gasping, she tried not to let go, fought the instinct to pull away. “You- I- I can't-”

“SENTENCES!” 

“I'm sorry! Thank you! You're too good, I-” she cried out again, wished she could cover her mouth, wished he would just tell her what he wanted her to say. “I want you! I need you! I'll do anything you say, just touch me-” gasping, she squeezed her eyes shut, couldn't bear the sight of the laughter in his face as he looked up at her.

“Anything?”

“Anything!”

“Beg.” 

For a moment, she wondered if she ought to have told him about the dreams after all, but then he licked her so gently she shuddered. 

“Come on,” he groaned, digging his fingers into her. “Be my good girl.”

“Please,” she whimpered, not daring to look at him. “I want to, I want you, I want-”

“Is that any way to thank me?”

Irritated with the frequent pauses, she groaned, pressed her hips down towards him. 

“Please,” she whined, “I'm sorry, I’ll be good to you, I promise, Olaf, just touch me, I-” Gasping, she almost shouted before catching herself. “Yes! Right there! Don't stop, don't-” moaning between her teeth, she came to the fast, demanding rhythm of his tongue. Never content, he pressed his face aggressively between her legs, forced her through her orgasm and into the next. Wordless, she whimpered, half convinced she was about to die as he pressed his tongue inside her. 

Even after he stopped, untangled himself from her legs and stood, she could feel her muscles trying to resituate themselves. It was only after a moment that she finally opened her eyes to see him unbuttoned and fully erect before her. 

“Oh,” she startled, leaning back, “Wh-” 

As soon as she began to speak, he pinched her face between his fingers, stroking himself with the other hand beside her cheek. 

“Do you want me to help you, Violet?”

“Of course,” her words were muffled by her squished cheeks, but he didn't so much as smile. 

“Do you not like it when I touch you?”

“What do you- Of course I do-” 

“Do you think it's funny that I risked my job and hid your compulsions from the others?”

“No, I-” she gasped in pain as he pinched her tighter. 

“All I ask of you is a little appreciation.”

“I do appreciate it! I-”

“Do you? Because that wasn't what I heard,” leaning down, he set his face just above hers. 

“No! I mean, yes!” Desperate, she clutched his wrist. “I do, I really do!”

“Really? Do you like my game, Violet?”

“Yes!”

“What part did you like?”

Her face burned, but this time, she dare not shut her eyes, “I-”

“Do you like getting your pussy eaten?” 

Wishing she could recede into herself entirely, she pulled her shoulders up. His voice changed to a hiss as he sped up his strokes. 

“Did you like letting me taste you?”

“You-”

“Do you want to know what you taste like, little Orphan?” 

Before she could answer, his tongue was in her mouth. Taken aback, she held his wrist tight, opening her lips, giving him whatever he wanted. Moaning, he held her tightly in place, tilting her face upwards.

“There she is;” he murmured, smiling again, “there's my good girl.”

“I'm sorry,” she whimpered, still not entirely sure what she was apologizing for, yet relieved when he nodded.

“I know, it's okay. We'll work on your gratitude and entitlement problem later. For now,” more warmly, he kissed her again, “open that mouth for me.”

Thinking he only meant to kiss her, she parted her lips ever so slightly, surprised when he straightened up and pressed the tip of his cock to her teeth. 

“Come on, Jailbait,” he tangled a fist in her hair, “be a good little whore.”

“I'm not-”

“I'm sorry, were you not just BEGGING me to touch you? Be my good girl and open up.” 

Pressing himself to her lips again, he slid his erection into her mouth, groaning as he did so. “There we go. See? I KNEW you were good.” Steady, he held her head in place and thrust into her mouth, making her cough at the effort. “What a good girl. MY good girl. Little Baudelaire, climbing onto MY couch and asking me to eat her out.” 

Unable to dispute his retelling, she just let him talk, his voice becoming a growl as he sped up. 

“Such a pretty girl, too,” he tightened his grip in her hair. “You're lucky I keep your secret or you'd never sleep another night.” 

Hands braced against his hips, she whined, tried to keep him from hitting the back of her throat. 

“Good little girl. Good Violet. My girl. Mine,” he hissed the breath between his teeth as he finished, spilling himself in her mouth. Stopping herself from coughing, she pressed the back of her hand to her mouth, didn't want to know how upset he'd be if she accidentally spit it on him. 

Sighing, he tucked himself back into his pants, fell onto the sofa beside her, wrapping an arm behind her. Slowly, he began to rub her back, pressed a kiss to her temple.

“You know…” his voice was low, gritty, “I might just keep these after all,” lifting up her panties, he wove them between his fingers. 

“Why?” She couldn't hide the exhaustion from her voice.

“A trophy. To commemorate the day I finally got to taste how sweet victory can be.” 

She flushed as he winked, still embarrassed, “Olaf-”

“Manners, Miss Baudelaire.”

“Yes, sorry. Sir, I just… need those.”

“Don't you think I deserve payment for my hard work?” 

“What if someone else sees them? If I get caught-”

“I would never let that happen,” holding her behind the neck, he tilted her forward, kissed her forehead. “I'll always take care of you.”

“Yes, Sir.” She closed her eyes.

“That's my good girl.”


	3. Chapter 3

Flat on her back, she stared at the ceiling. “I don't want to talk about this anymore.”

“Violet,” sighing, Olaf lowered the legal pad he had been taking notes on. “The only way for me to help you is for you to talk to me. I can't treat you until we get to the root of your disease.”

“I don't have a disease.” 

“Have you heard of hysteria?”

“In passing.”

“The body and the mind is all one, Miss Baudelaire.” He tapped his temple knowingly. “Many of the things we believe to be products of the mind are caused by the body, and vice versa. You cannot cure a body until you know where it's been. Same with the mind.”

“But there's nothing to cure me of!” Exasperated, she looked over at him.

“Trying to kill yourself isn't exactly the action of a sound mind.”

“I didn't try to kill myself!”

“I know that and you know that, but the rest of the staff doesn't believe you quite yet.”

“But you've told them?”

“That's not enough. You have to show them.”

“How the hell am I supposed to prove I'm not crazy?”

“By starting from the beginning. Tell me more about your family.”

Groaning, she lay her head down again. “One mother, one father, one brother, one sister. You know all this.”

“And you are the eldest?”

“I am the eldest. ‘And as the eldest, it will always be your responsibility to look after your younger siblings.’” She affected a deeper tone, pointing at the empty air before her.

“Sorry, I don't recognize the quotation.” 

“My parents. They wanted me to keep the others out of trouble.” She snorted. “I've done a great job of that, haven't I?”

“That's a lot of pressure for a little girl.”

“I'm sure they hardly imagined things could be so bad.” 

“All the same. Is that why you hate them?”

“I don't hate them,” she shook her head.

“You hate your mother.”

“I don't hate my mother.”

“We've been over this, Miss Baudelaire. Lots of young women hate their mothers. It's a natural step in development.” 

“I don't hate my mother.”

“Not anymore, is what you're saying.”

She was silent at that. He was wrong, of course he was wrong, but she knew him, knew he will argue the point for hours. 

“Tell me more about your father. I know you two were close.”

“I was close with both my parents.”

“Of course.”

“There's nothing more to say. I was a kid, I did normal kid things.”

“Such as?”

She shrugged, “Kid stuff. Taking things apart. Hiding under beds. Going to the beach. Normal.” 

“And what of your siblings? Were they, as you say, normal?”

“They  _ are _ normal,” she shoots him a warning glace.

“Of course, of course. But you cannot deny the impact such a loss had on all of you.”

“Why shouldn't it?”

“Watch your tone, Miss Baudelaire. I am not the enemy here.” 

“I know.” Sighing, she rubbed her eyes. “I'm sorry, Sir. I'm just tired.” 

“Are you not sleeping?”

“As best I can. It's not exactly easy here.”

“Maybe I can petition the board to let you take a weekend in the country. The fresh air would do you good.”

“Do you really think they'd let me?” She'd learned long ago not to get her hopes up, but the thought was nice. A chance to get away, away from these chattering walls, away from the watching eyes… 

“You are, technically, a ward of the state, but if a government employee were to go with you-”

All at once, her gut plummeted. She pictured the day staff, irritated and watching her, nameless faces blowing cigarette smoke across the room. She tried not to look and choked back a cough. (That, of course, was the best case scenario.)

“I'd rather stay,” she interrupted him. 

Cocking his eyebrow, he looked at her quizzically. “You don't want to go? There's a lovely view if you go just an hour outside the city.”

“I don't want to go.” She pictured the night staff, the marks on the arms of the more unruly patients. 

“Don't tell me you've become afraid to leave the hospital.”

“I just think it's safer for me to stay here.” She avoided his eyes. Here, she might be afraid, but at least there were witnesses. 

“Oh well. The choice is yours, but I can assure you, I'd keep you nice and safe.”

“I know, but-” She paused. “You?” 

“Do you think I couldn't?” 

“No, just… You would take me?” 

“Do you think I would trust anyone else with you?” He smirked, placing a hand on her leg. 

“I wasn't sure, I thought-”

“Tell me, Miss Baudelaire,” he stood slowly, keeping a hand on her thigh, “whose girl are you?”

“Yours, Sir.” Her voice was little more than breath as he brushed the hair back from her forehead, face right next to hers. 

“And who’s my good girl?”

“I am.” She was just about to sit up when he climbed over her, pressing her shoulder back down. 

“So why,” he lifted her legs, placing her thighs on either side of his waist, “would I ever leave you in less than perfect safety?”

“You wouldn't,” she felt her toes curl as he reached up her skirt. 

“A little trust goes a long way, Jailbait.” 

“I trust you, Sir.” 

“I know, good girl. I know.” Kissing her knee, he untucked her blouse, pushed it up over her chest. “So, what do you think? You, me, some mountain air?”

“I think it sounds wonderful.” Lifting her hips, she let him tug her panties down. 

“I know of a nice cabin. Very secluded, very private.” 

“Yes?” 

“Oh yes,” kissing her other knee, he tucked her underwear into his front shirt pocket. “A little stream out back. Tire swing and everything. No neighbors to spy on indiscreet little girls going for a swim.”

“I haven't been swimming in ages.”

“And when was the last time you were laid out in front of a fireplace and ravished?” Leaning down, he kissed her abdomen, fingertips brushing against her, up her thighs, up and up… She shivered, fingers digging into the couch. 

“I can't say I ever have, Sir,” groaning, she let her hips buck into his touch. 

He chuckled at her quick response. “Well, we'll just have to fix that, won't we?” 

Sighing happily, she moaned as he slid a finger inside her. 

“There we go. Good girl.” Hooking his finger, he beckoned the deep thrumming of her blood forward. “I can't say you'd get much sleep, but we'd get you nice and relaxed alright.” Squeezing her breast, he kissed it with his teeth. “Who knows? If you behave well enough, we could even make it a regular treatment.” Tugging her bra down, he pulled at her nipple with his mouth, sliding another finger inside her.

Gasping, she clutched at his shoulders, legs tightening against him. “Right there!”

“Yes, you like it when I touch you, don't you?” 

“Yes, Sir,” she moaned, pushing down against him.  

“You get this nice and wet for anyone else?” 

“Who else would there be?” She bit her lip, moaning through a grin. 

“That's what I'm wondering. You haven't been letting them pass you around, have you?”

“No! Never.”

“Good girl. You're not tempting any more staff into trouble?”

“No one else, Sir.”

“No one?”

“Only you. I'm only yours,” groaning, she arched up as he ran his tongue over her breast. 

“Good girl. You belong to me. You're mine, Miss Baudelaire.” Thrusting his hand quick, he forced her breath out until she was gasping.

“Keep going, Sir, I'm so close!” 

“Yes, I know. Go ahead and beg me to let you finish.” 

“Please, Sir,” she crossed her ankles behind his back, holding him tight against her. “Please, I want you, I need you!”

“You need me?”

“I need you!”

“You don't have the faintest clue how much you need me, little girl.” Leaning in, he ran his tongue along her throat. 

“I know, Sir, I know.”

“Who else is taking care of you, Baudelaire? Who else do you have?”

“No one,” she shut her eyes, held him tighter.

“So who watches out for you? Who keeps you safe?”

“You do, Sir.” 

“So when you say you need me, what you really mean is…”

“I belong to you. All of me is yours, all of me. Please, Sir, I need you, I need you, I need-” her words became a whine, all her frustration and fear turning into molten pleasure. 

“Good girl, Baudelaire. Very good.” He didn't stop working her, not until she fell breathless against the couch. “Now,” popping his fingers between his lips, he sat up, “are we feeling more cooperative?”

“I’m always cooperate.”

“You're a very lucky girl, Violet.”

“I am?”

“Do you know what usually happens to nymphos here?” 

“Nymphos?” She furrowed her brow. 

“Little girls who like begging men to fuck them. Sex crazed lunatics, Miss Baudelaire.”

“I'm not sex crazed.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“How long did you wait to spread your legs for me just now? And how is it that even after successfully masturbating you, you're still here in my lap, waiting for me to fuck you?”

“But I-”

“My god, all someone has to do is show you basic human decency and you're soaking wet.” 

“You didn't-” 

“Don't interrupt me. Now, Miss Baudelaire,” reaching down, he unbuttoned his pants, taking his time opening the fly, “what do you suppose would happen if I reported your condition as I ought to? As I am, in fact, legally obligated to?”

Not wanting to interrupt again, she waited until the pause became awkwardly heavy before hazarding a reply. “I… don't know, Sir.”

“You don't know? You don't know what happens to pretty little girls medically diagnosed as sluts?”

“I-”

“The night shift happens to them, Miss Baudelaire.” Growling, he stroked himself beneath his pants, his face inches above hers. “Every male doctor who doesn't have a woman to go home to happens to them. Every medical supplier, supervisor, and janitor happens. That's what happens to little girls who beg to ride cock.”

“Don't tell!” Grabbing his shirt, she just barely restrained her tears. “Please don't tell! I'll do anything,  _ anything _ !” 

“If anyone finds out I lied on your chart, I could be fired. Worse, I could lose my license. Everything I have ever worked for, down the drain. Which is why-”

“Please, Sir! I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to start trouble! I'm sorry!” 

“Let me finish!” he snapped, spit hitting her face. “Which is why,” pulling his erection from his pants, he continued stroking it, “this has to be our little secret, okay?”

“Yes, Sir! Thank you, Sir! Thank you!” Still terrified, the tears spilled down her cheeks into her hair. 

Shushing her, he moved back, lifting her hips. “I know, Jailbait, I know. It's stupid of me to care so much, but what can I say? You've got me wrapped around your finger.” 

Lining himself up, he pushed inside her, groaning. She closed her eyes as he filled her, refused to let the whimper in her mouth leave her lips. She was happy. She was grateful. A little bit of discomfort was nothing comparatively. 

With a moan, he began to thrust. “Fuck, I always forget how nice you feel. We'll definitely have to get you away from here.”

“You really think they'll let us leave for a weekend?” Her voice jumped in time with his movements, her entire body rocking.

“The whole week, if I can work my magic.” 

Her breath hitched. A week. An entire week. He wanted to spend an entire week with her. Her. “You'll be with me? The whole time?”

“Who else?”

“You really want me? For a week?”

Moaning, he continued to thrust into her, his cock hard and thick inside her. The pressure was welcome, a nice change from the usual tightness in her chest.

“Jailbait, if it were up to me, I'd carry you off right now and we'd never return.” 

“Yes, Sir?” Her heart felt light. It was the first time someone had mentioned any desire to keep her since… Well, since. 

“Yes, good girl.” Pressing his lips to her neck, he groaned. “God, I'd bring you home with me every night if I could.”

“You would?”

“Of course,” rocking more quickly now, he grunted between his thrusts, “Why wouldn't I want a pretty little Orphan?” 

“You'd let me live with you?” She closed her eyes, picturing it. Being wanted, not tolerated. Being free. Not having to answer to white coats and clipboards, no more pills, no more shots.

“Oh, absolutely. Nothing would give me more pleasure.”

“Are you being honest, Sir?” It was too soon to say it now, but if he would take her siblings too… Maybe things could finally be okay. 

“Of course. Who wouldn't want to have such a pretty little girl in their bed? Especially when there's so much fun to be had.” Groaning, he dug his fingers into her.

Her insides were stone silent as he pushed into her, pinning her down against the couch. Holding her beneath the knees, he thrust, vocal in his pleasure. She closed her eyes. 

“I'm yours, Sir?” When she did speak, her voice cracked as if left unused for too long.

“All mine, good girl. Isn't that right?”

“Yes,” wrapping her arms behind his neck again, she let him kiss between her breasts, silver tongue tracing the bruises he had left behind. “You're very good to me.”

“I'm too good to you. Unfortunately for me, I never stood a chance against your wiles.”

“I'm sorry,” she apologized, flexed her toes as he hit just the right spot in her belly. “I'm sorry, Sir, I-” And then she was crying again, an ugly, stupid thing that caused nothing but destruction.

“I know. But it's too late.” Wiping her cheek, he kissed her sternum. “All you can do now is clean up your mess.” 

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry-” She clenched her teeth, apologized as her climax drew nearer. She didn't deserve this, didn't deserve his generosity, his kindness-

“I know, Jailbait. I know. I'll protect you anyway, like an fool.” Thrusting rapidly, he hammered at her in quick, shallow strokes. 

“Please, Sir. Please, I'll be good, I'll be good, I'll be good, I'm yours, I'll be good, please, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm-” she gasped as his fingers dug into her thighs, climax unfurling even as he nearly folded her in half. 

“Keep going,” he grunted, his tone uncharacteristically angry. 

“I'm all yours, Sir. Just yours, only yours. You're so good, so kind,” hands shaking, she stroked his head, his shoulders, trying to gain purchase. “You're so smart, Sir, too good to me. I need you, Sir, I need you, I need-” crying out, she tried to pull back as he groaned, teeth pressing to her skin as he came inside her. “Olaf! Wait, you can't-” Frantic, she tried to sit up, tried to crawl back and away, but he was stronger, and he held her in place. Moaning, he gave a few more deep thrusts until he was pulling out with a shiver, having spent himself entirely. 

Her entire body was a fire alarm as she scurried into a sitting position. She couldn't- He shouldn't- Everything spun as she tried not to vomit. 

“Calm down,” he snapped, spreading his arms across the back of the couch as he relaxed into the cushions. 

“What am I- How are you- What am I supposed to- I can't get pregnant! I- I can't! I'll be homeless! I'll-”

“Miss Baudelaire, do I look like a man who wants a child?” he growled, keeping his eyes closed. His words were obscured by a wailing sound in the background. It was another moment before she realized the screeching ringing she was hearing was only in her head. 

“What are you-”

“I had them add contraceptives to your routine meds last week.” 

“You… What?” Palm on her stomach, she stared at him blankly. 

“Last week. You're fine.” Lifting his hands up, he gestured in a show of exasperation. “I told you I'd take care of you, didn't I? A little more trust would be appreciated, Miss Baudelaire.” 

“I…” slowly, she lowered herself until she was sitting. “You… What?”

“Yes, I really do think of everything. You're welcome for that, by the way.”

“Thank you.” Despite the relief, her head still pounded with the aftershocks of terror.

“Have I ever let anything bad happen to you, Violet?” Looking at her, he cocked his eyebrow.

“No, Sir.” Her voice was raw, small.

“Will I ever let anything bad happen to you?”

“No.”

“Then relax, Jailbait.” Smiling, he closed his eyes again, chuckling. “My god, you are a piece of work, aren't you?”

“I didn't-”

“Here, come here,” lifting his arm slightly, he beckoned her forward until she leaned against him. With a sigh, he curled his arm around her, kissing the top of her head. “Always so worried, aren't you?”

“I'm sorry, Sir. I only- If I got in trouble-”

“They would take you away from me, I know. I will never let that happen.”

“I know, but-”

“Whose girl are you, Miss Baudelaire?”

“Yours, Sir.”

“And who is my good girl?”

“I am?”

“You are. And who is going to take you away from me?”

“No one, Sir.”

“That's right, Jailbait. No one.” Brushing her hair back with slow fingers, he kissed the top of her head. “You're mine, and I intend to keep you that way.”

“I'm sorry, Sir.” Silent tears fell down her face. She was an idiot. Stupid girl. Stupid thing. All he wanted was to help her, and she kept making everything more and more difficult. Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

“No harm no foul. All is forgiven.” Still chuckling, he rubbed her shoulder with his hand. “Yes, it'll be good for you to get away. Give you a chance to relax for once.”

“Yes, Sir.” Leaning against him, she stared at the buttercream wall. 

 


	4. Chapter 4

As soon as she opened the door, he held his hands out to her, beaming, “Come give me a kiss, pretty girl!” 

Happy that he was happy, she threw herself into his arms, heart soaring as he caught her, kissing her before the door even got a chance to click closed. 

Lifting her beneath the arms, he spun her in a circle. “Who's your favorite clever doctor?” 

“You are, but what's the occasion?”

“Guess who got you a week of leave?” 

“A week?” She kissed him again, arms wrapping behind his neck. 

“A week. You and me and mountain air. So tell me again, whose girl are you?” 

“Yours, Sir!”

“And who is my favorite girl?” 

“Is it me?”

“It's you, little lady.” Smirking, he held her beneath the thighs, letting her legs wrap around his waist as he kissed her, her lips parting in a laugh. 

“You're amazing!”

“Aren't I?” 

“When do we go?”

“Next week, if it so pleases you.” 

“It absolutely pleases me.” She sighed, content as he pressed her back against the wall, his body going flush with hers.

“One week, then it's just an hour's drive and we're nice and tucked away.”

“Where are we staying?”

“I have a family house out there. It certainly isn't as nice as anything you'd be used to, but it's served me well over the years.”

“I don't care what it looks like, so long as it's not here.”

“Well, on that I can assure you; it is decidedly not here.” 

“And it's just us?” She thought again of the prying day staff.

“Just us and the coziest cabin you've ever seen.”

“Yes?”

“Oh yes. I hope you don't mind the size; not everyone can be a little heiress, after all. But between the two of us we'll have a living room, a bedroom, and a wine cellar that's more of a spare room, but who cares really?” 

“Not me,” kissing him again, she felt her gut untangle in relief. So much space; she had gotten used to being stacked atop other patients like sardines. “And you're certain you want to bring me with you?”

“Violet,” he clicked his tongue, leaning in to kiss along her throat. “How many times are we going to go through this?”

“I'm sorry, it's just-” She gasped, the sound turning to a groan as he rocked himself against her. 

“I know, I know. It's smarter if I don't. God knows what other types of trouble you have in store for me, but I am primarily a curious man, and I intend to find out. Besides,” he kissed beneath her chin, pushing her face to the side, “where else am I going to find such a pretty poison?” 

“Thank you, Sir, I can't tell you how much-”

“I know, Jailbait. I know. Words don't do it justice. So why don't you go ahead and show me?” 

Kissing her again, he pushed his tongue into her mouth. Moaning, she gripped him tighter. His fingers dug into her skin, harshly pinning her in place as he ground himself up against her. Silently, she prayed it would leave bruises; it was nice to have physical proof of being held. 

Opening her mouth as wide as she could manage, she whined, arching against the wall, trying to get closer to him. The breath squeezed from her chest as he pushed back, flattening her. Unable to move, she just held on, groaning as the bulge in his pants grew harder, the friction of him grinding it against her curling her toes. 

“Olaf, put me down,” she turned her head to the side, unable to speak around his mouth. 

“Why?” he growled, running his tongue over her jugular. She swallowed. 

“Because I need you. Because I want to thank you.”

“Oh yes?” he chuckled, making no move to release her. 

“Yes, I want you. I want-”

“You want what from me?”

“I want you inside me,” groaning she tightened her fingers into fists. 

“Oh yes?”

“Yes.” 

“And what would you do if I put you down?”

“Anything you wanted.”

“Anything I wanted…” humming, he thought it over. “And what if what I want is to fuck you against this wall?” 

“Then at least let me down long enough to get my clothes off.”

“My, you are a sick girl, aren't you? Begging to take your clothes off me for.”

“Please, Sir. I won't tell, I-”

“Why do you want to get naked for me, Miss Baudelaire?”

“Pardon?”

“Let's say I let you down and you take off that dress. What happens next, in that little head of yours?”

“You touch me.” Flushed, she closed her eyes. “You fuck me.” 

“And would you like that, Miss Baudelaire?” 

“Yes, Sir.” She bit her lip as he bucked sharply up against her. 

“Well then. Who am I to deny such a pretty thing her fantasies?” Setting her down, he caught her face between his hands, kissing her roughly. Whimpering, she tugged his pants open, blind fingers stumbling over his zipper. All she wanted was to keep him happy, to keep herself in his arms. She liked it when he was happy. 

Crossing her arms over herself, she quickly tugged up her shirt, breaking the kiss so that she could take it off. 

“Good girl,” he smiled, taking off his own shirt as she shimmied out of her skirt. “No lace this time?”

“I'm sorry, Sir, if I had known-”

“It's fine. Not like I was going to let you stay in these anyway.” Lifting her beneath the arms again, he sat her down on his desk. Making quick work of her bra, he tugged it off rather roughly before leaning in to run his tongue between her breasts. Shivering, she moaned, fingers digging into his back as he circled her nipple with his tongue before catching it between his teeth. 

Flustered, she held onto him as he nipped at the skin, leaving a trail of bruises to mark his place. She wondered if given the chance, he would make her all one bruise. 

“Tell me, Miss Baudelaire,” kneading her breasts in his hands, he leaned close to her face, “who else gets to touch you like this?” 

“No one, Sir,” she shifted, a mounting pressure building between her legs. 

“No one? But you have such a pretty little body. Surely a girl with your condition must face certain temptations?”

“No, Sir.” She shook her head. “Only you.”

“And why's that, Baudelaire?”

“Because I'm your girl.”

“Correction,” he smirked, kissing her lightly. “You're my good girl.” 

“Olaf, I want-” Shuddering, she groaned as he pressed his mouth to her breast again. “I need you. Right now.” 

Standing slowly, he tugged her panties down over her hips. “Is that so?”

“Yes! Please. I want you so badly- I want to thank you.” 

“Yes, Jailbait?” 

“Yes,” touching his erection, she ran her thumb over the purpled tip.  _ What a fantastic color,  _ she thought, decided it was her favorite. That's just the type of man he was, she supposed. He had hands that could make you love even yourself. 

With a moan, he kissed her lips, pushing her knees further apart. Again, his fingers ran up her thighs, finding purchase on her hips and then digging in as he finally, finally penetrated her. 

Gasping, she lifted her legs, clutching his arms as he slowly thrust. 

“There you go… Very good,” he groaned. His rhythm was slow, deliberate. 

“Olaf,” she rolled his name through her mouth, leaning forward to kiss him with her tongue. “Faster. Please.”

“Not yet, Miss Baudelaire. I fully intend to take my sweet time with this.” 

“Olaf,” she whined against his lips, dragging the soft “f” through her teeth. 

Shushing her, he enveloped her mouth in a kiss. “Quiet, Jailbait. Be a good girl and take it.”

And so she did, entire body rocking with him as he moved, his hard arousal pressing between her legs with such steady meter that for a moment she wondered if he wanted her at all or if she had tricked him. But then he was groaning, the sound strained, and everything was right once again. 

“You're so wet, god. You really love giving yourself up, don’t you?” Tugging her lip between his teeth, he groaned. “You barely let a moment pass before you're clamoring for a chance to climb into my lap, humping my fucking leg like a damn dog.” He clicked his tongue, shaking his head. 

“Sir, I didn't mean-” 

“Such a pretty little thing, too. It really is too bad you're a whore, otherwise you might have had a chance.”

“A chance?” 

“Sure. No man will want to marry you now. Easy  _ and _ an orphan? No.” 

All at once, all the happiness in her belly dissolved. Ignorant of her pain, he continued to thrust inside her, grunting as he did so. 

“What do you mean? What are you trying to-’

“Don't be too hard on yourself; It's not your fault you're sick.” His voice was a groan as he spoke matter-of-factly. 

“How would they know? Did you tell anyone?”

“No, no. Of course not. I promised I wouldn't, didn't I?”

“How would they know then? If I don’t tell and you don't tell-”

“They'll know. If you don't stop fucking random men, you won't be so nice and tight anymore. Someone needs to teach you a lesson about what happens to little girls who spread their legs too easily.” Groaning, he pressed himself fully inside her. Scrambling for purchase, she gasped, clutching his arms. 

“Sir, I-” she gasped again as he thrust. 

“Yes, that's right, Miss Baudelaire. That's a good girl. And if you're going to stay a good girl, if you're ever going to leave here, you need to promise me you won't fuck anyone else besides me. For your own good.” 

“No! Of course not!”

“Lots of men will try to take advantage of you. You have to be careful if you want to land a good man.”

“You think someone could still want me?” 

“Oh, Miss Baudelaire,” moaning, he kissed her neck, “many men would pay top dollar for the privilege of having such a pretty little girl.” 

Nodding silently, she held onto him, hoped he was right. 

“Come on then,” tilting her chin upwards, he kissed her lips, “give us a smile.”

“I'm not trying to be bad,” choking up, she prayed she wouldn't cry. 

“I know, Jailbait. I know.” Murmuring low, he kept kissing her, breaking up her words unevenly. 

“I'm trying to be good, I am, I don't know why I keep doing bad things, I don't want to, but I can't stop, I can't-” her words were muffled as he kissed her more forcefully. 

“It's okay, Miss Baudelaire. You're a very sick girl, and we're going to get you better. Okay?” 

“Okay, Sir.” Still sullen, she leaned back, giving up. 

“Hey, hey, hey.” Smiling gently, he pulled her back towards himself. “Trust me.” Cradling her cheek, he pressed his thumb to her lips, waiting until she let him slide it onto her tongue. “I will protect you. Okay?” Nodding, she closed her lips around his finger as he pulled it out. “Good. Now let me take care of you.” Roughly, he bucked forward into her, beginning to thrust more quickly. Gasping, she arched forward. “There we go. Happy thoughts, Jailbait “ 

“Yes, Sir,” she held onto his shoulders tightly,  her voice jumping with each movement.

“Good girl. Good little girl.” Grunting, he hammered against her steadily. “You're safe. I've got you.”

“I'm sorry, Sir; I'm sorry-” She moaned, the sound staccatoed by his thrusts.

“Enough apologies. Just think: our own cabin. Me and you.”

“All week?”

“All week.”

Smiling again, albeit weakly, she pressed her chest to his, kissing him. Rolling her hips forward, he thrust hard. 

“Good girl. So much trouble, aren't you?” Chuckling, he kissed her back, holding her face to his. 

“Is that okay?”

“You're very lucky I can't resist your charms, little minx.” Moving his mouth along her neck, he kept bucking quickly.

“Oh!” she cried, startled by a particularly hard thrust. “Oh my god-”

“Yes, is that good?” 

“Yes, right there! Don't stop!” 

“Oh, darling, he groaned, “We are well past the point of stopping.” 

“Fuck- Oh my god- Olaf-” Panting, she dug her fingers into him. 

“You like that, Jailbait?” His movements were sharp, quick, all pretense of gentleness gone. “How's that feel?”

“Good! You’re- Fuck, you're so big.” Whining, she lifted her shoulders up beside her face. With every movement, he strained her body, the joints of her hips aching as he held her legs open.

“Feels good, doesn't it? Having a thick cock shoved inside you?” 

“Olaf,” she whined, desperate and needy.

“Yes? Something to say?”

“You're so good, oh my god-” open-mouthed, she pressed her lips against him, stifling the sound that clawed out of her body.

“Keep talking, Miss Baudelaire. Thank me for fucking you.” 

“Thank you, Sir. Thank you. I'm all yours, only yours- Shit, Olaf, oh my god- I'm so close-” 

“How close?”

“So close! Don't stop, don't stop-” 

“Beg me to let you cum around my dick.”

“Oh god, I want to- Please don't stop, I'm so close, so close-” She whined, squeezing her eyes shut. “I want you inside me, I want to feel you, to belong to you, I-” the words died in her mouth, becoming a buzz of ultrasonic noise. Tangling her hair tight in his fist, he craned her neck back, kissing her open lips. Her back arched, bones straining as she trembled, his mouth swallowing any sound she might have made.

Rutting against her, he grunted, evidently not minding the harshness of his movements. Taking advantage of her gasping breath, he shoved his tongue into her mouth, mixing his groan with hers as she shuddered through her climax. A few more thrusts and he was pushing her backwards, the weight of his body heavy against her as he bent over her, muscles braced. Her elbows smacked against the desk behind her, inadvertently reclining her. Groaning, he rolled his hips forward with sharp snaps of movement. Still riding her own tremors of bliss, she watched him, the way his hands dimpled her skin as he searched for purchase along her thighs. Teeth clenched tightly, he came inside her, moaning loudly as he did so. “Good girl, Jailbait. Very good.” Slower now, he pumped inside her a few more times until he was done, pulling out with a sigh. 

Quick, she grabbed his face, tugged him towards her until he was holding her again, kissing her with his beautiful mouth. He wrapped her in his arms, kissed her undeserving lips, her foolish tongue. Giddy, she pressed her legs to his sides, never wanting him to let him go. If only she could stay this way forever, she could be happy. 

Again, she thought of the mountain home awaiting them, white cotton sheets cool on her skin as she got to wake up every morning in his arms, fall asleep every night to the sound of his heartbeat instead of the shouts of other patients. Sunlit mornings where she cooked him breakfast and made him happy; so very, very happy. And he would rake his hands through her hair, kiss the paleness from her cheeks, call her his, his,  _ his.  _ Had there ever been a more beautiful word? His. It was a word you held in your mouth like a marble, had to work not to choke on. 

“Such a good girl,” he muttered against her lips with a smile. 

“Yours, Sir?” Her fingers traced his temples, his jaw. 

“Mine. All mine.” His tongue brushed against the edge of her teeth. 

Content, she wrapped her arms behind his neck, decided she would hold onto him for a week straight until he carried her away himself. 


	5. Chapter 5

“Can we talk?” She tried to hold back the tears, really, really did not want him to see her cry. As she shut the door behind her, Violet watched Olaf’s movements slow as he stopped the automatic loosening of his tie.

“Talk? About what?”

“It’s your job, isn’t it? To talk to me?” Sitting on the couch, she pulled a pillow onto her lap, clutching it tightly as he sighed, leaning back into his chair.

“Alright, sure.” Blowing air through his lips, he shrugged. “How are things going?”

“Terrible!” She did cry now, covered her face with her hands as she broke down into sobs. Granted, things hadn’t been good for a while, but it had been a particularly wretched day. 

“Oh? What made it so terrible?”

Still weeping, she just shook her head. “Everything. Everything is terrible.” And everything was. From the lanky nurses with their pinching fingers to the winking aides, everything was perfectly horrid. But today there had been the laughing doctors, pulling her ponytail, joking how a fake lice epidemic might make them an extra hundred with the local wigmakers. They hadn’t let her go until a chain-smoking attendant came to collect her for her appointment. Maybe cutting all her hair off wasn’t such a bad idea. Maybe if she scratched off her face entirely, she would finally be let alone. No one cared if ugly girls went crazy. “I hate it! I hate it here!”

“I see.” He simply nodded, blase. 

“I want to go home! I want to leave. I-” she shook her head, body wracked with her sobs.

“You don’t have a home, Violet.” Stiffly, he slid a tissue box towards her. “Here. Try to clean yourself up.”

“I’m sorry.” Holding her breath to stifle the sobs, she hid her face in a hankerchief.

“There are few things more off-putting than sniveling.”

“I know. I’m sorry Sir.” She hadn’t meant to cry in front of him. It had just happened.

“So. You want to leave.” Carefully, he steepled his fingers together. “You don’t want to get better?”

“No- Of course I do! But I don’t know why I’m here, and-”

“Calm down, Miss Baudelaire. You’re upsetting yourself.”

“It’s just,” she hiccuped, trying to steady her voice, “I haven’t been told what they’re still keeping me for. My observation period has been over for weeks, and how am I supposed to get better if I don’t even know-”

“Do you think it’s your place to question your doctors?”

Startled, she blinked. “Well… Don’t I at least deserve to know-”

“The least you deserve is daily bread and a shred of humanity. Are you really so spoiled that a roof over your head and team of specialists is still not enough for you?”

“No! Just-”

“The only people who have a right to your medical information are your guardians and doctors. Tell me, Miss Baudelaire, do you have a parent who might check on your records?”

“No,” she answered meekly.

“A husband?” 

“No, Sir.”

“And do you think I don’t go to great lengths to take care that you are receiving the best care available?”

“Of course, Sir, but-”

“I know you’ve lived a privileged life,” he held up a finger, silencing her, “but I need you to understand that the world is not all silver spoons.”

“I know, Sir, but,” her eyes watered again, “they won’t stop grabbing at me.” She looked away again, didn’t want to see the disappointment that lingered in his eyes. “The doctors. The aides. They just… Today they pulled my hair, told me they would cut it off.” 

“And did they?”

“No-”

“Then what's the problem? Surely there are worse miseries in the world than a theoretical haircut?” 

“Yes, but… I didn't like it.” Slowly, she brushed her hand over her ponytail, self-conscious of how vain she must sound. All at once, she felt impossibly infantile. “I don't like the way they grab me. It hurts, and even when it doesn't… it's still bad.” Unsteady, her fingers twitched over her arm, curling into herself.

“Violet,” Olaf spoke slowly, with careful measure. “Have you been letting the doctors hold you?”

“Pardon?”

“Have you,” he enunciated each word, “been playing games with your staff?”

“No, Sir,” she shook her head fervently.

“You just said they grab you. Why are they grabbing you?”

“To move me. Because I’m being too fast or too slow, or I'm in the wrong spot-”

“So, because you make them?” Just as slowly, he stood, looked down at her.

“No!” She shook her head quick, distraught.

“Because you tease them?”

“No! I don't do it on purpose, I just have a habit of getting in their way-”

“You're smarter than that. What? Have you been conducting yourself like a disobedient little flirt?”

“I’m not! I swear, Sir, I wouldn’t!” 

His hands slammed down on either side of her, making her flinch as he drew his clenched teeth right next to her face. “Don’t lie to me! Tell me the truth!” 

“I’m not lying! I’m not!”

“So, what, you flounce around and once you get scared you come crying to me?”

“That’s not-” 

“You thought you could gain a little favor and now you regret it?”

“No!”

“Are they paying you with drugs? Or do you just like being put in your place like the little whore you are?”

Crying again, she covered her ears with her hands, fingers digging into her scalp. “Stop it! Stop!”

Roughly, he grabbed her leg. She kicked away, scrambling back until she was perched on the back of the couch.

“After everything I’ve done for you! All I have done since I came here was sacrifice for you! To think, I was going to let you into my home!” Livid, he grabbed her wrist, yanking her arm. 

She cried out, tried to brace herself backwards. “Olaf, you're hurting me!”

“To think- I promised to keep your secret, and this is how you betray me!”

“I didn’t do anything! Olaf, please!”

“You expect me to believe that?” 

“Yes! Yes, it's the truth!”

“Is it?”

“I would never betray you! I wouldn't!”

“You swear?”

“I swear!” Still crying, she held onto her arm, telling herself that she must stop the tears now. Tears would only make things worse. Rattled, he dropped her wrist, crossed the room and lit a cigarette. 

For a few minutes, the office was quiet save for his occasional slow breath and her choked sobs. Eventually, even those died away, and she sat crying silently as he stared at the far wall, a smoldering pile of ash growing in the saucer beside him.

“Tell me the truth,” his voice was raspy, raw. “What game are you playing, Violet?”

“Sir?” Still afraid, she clutched her wrist, not having moved from her perch upon the back of the couch. 

“I’ve seen a lot of bad girls. But never, in my wildest cases, have I seen someone with so much ego and such a penchant for manipulation.” Turning to face her, he snubbed the end of his cigarette into the tray, pulling out another. She shivered as he walked towards her, studying her face in a quiet manner that one might describe as sorrow. 

“I don’t understand the question, Sir.”  

He stared down at her, taking a moment before placing the cigarette against her lip. She decided this wasn’t a good time to tell him she didn’t smoke.

“Why,” he paused, waiting for her to breathe in before bringing a lighter to its end, “do you feel the need to toy with me?”

“I’m not!” 

He plucked the cigarette from her lips, taking a long drag off it. “Do you think it’s funny to torture men, Miss Baudelaire?”

“No, Sir!”

“Do you find humor in my generosity?” 

“Of course not!”

“Then why exploit my unfortunate tenderness with stories regaling just how popular you are with the men?”

“I didn’t mean- I didn’t think-”

“No, you didn’t.” Slowly, he exhaled, pursing his lips. “Tell me,” carefully, he flicked off the ash, “how do you think it makes me feel to listen to you talk about men trying to touch you?”

“Not well,” she offered, embarrassed.

“That’s one way to put it. And why do you think that is, Miss Baudelaire?”

“I don’t know, Sir.”

“You don’t know?” He cocked an eyebrow. “Tell me. Whose girl are you?”

“Yours, Sir.”

“So, whose hands should you allow on your body?”

“I didn’t allow them, I-”

“Whose hands?”

“Yours, Sir.” Quieter, she looked down. 

“That’s right, pretty girl.” Gently, he tilted her chin up so she would face him. “Now. If you are having problems, there are better things to do than cry about it. Do you think I won’t take care of you?”

“No, Sir. You’re very good to me. I’m sorry.” Guiltily, she held onto his fingers. With a sigh, he leaned down, kissed the top of her head.

“I don’t know why I let you get me this way, Jailbait. I just care about you too much.”

“I know, Sir.” She closed her eyes, bones still trembling with nausea as he kissed her throat. The hand not dangling a cigarette pet along her leg. 

“It makes me a little crazy sometimes. But what can I say; you’re a hard girl to keep.”

“I’m sorry.” 

“I know you are.” When his tongue pressed to her jaw, it was warm. She wondered if he liked her the same way he liked smoke in his lungs. “I wish you never started this. But it’s too late now. You’ve hooked me, haven’t you?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Enough apologizing.” Leaning in, he kissed her salty lips. “Let me see how good a girl you can be for me, yes?”

“Yes, Sir.” Still holding his hand, she kissed him back gratefully. She was his. If nothing else, she could count on that.


	6. Chapter 6

Leaning her head on her crossed arms, she stared out at the passing landscape. It whizzed by in greens and yellows, the gravelly road turning quickly to cling to the mountain’s side. 

It wasn’t a nice car by any means, but it certainly felt like the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. From the moment he opened her door, bowing deeply as she blushed and tucked herself inside, it had been nothing but pure bliss. Never before had anyone truly appreciated the sheer beauty of faux leather, she thought, running her fingers against the interior paneling. 

“Getting antsy?” Olaf chirped, a teasing grin in his voice.

“No. Just excited.” Glancing over her shoulder, she smiled at him, quietly purring at how nice it all was. The sun cut a harsh line against his profile, making the hazy edge where skin met sky practically glow an effervescent golden yellow. 

“Well. Let’s hope I can keep the young Miss as happy the rest of the week. I know you’re a tough crowd to please.” 

“I’m not so difficult.” She lay her head back against her arm, watching the blaze of underbrush turn into more woods. 

“Oh no, just a life of luxury and wealth.” He was teasing, but he wasn’t joking exactly. 

Sitting up, she balanced a cheek against her hand. “You know I don’t need all that. You saw how small my bag was.”

“Yes. And yet you still managed to overpack,” shaking his head, he clicked his tongue.

“How am I overpacked? You brought two bags for just yourself!”

“Yes, well. Mine are filled with the essentials.”

“As is mine! How many clothes do you think I own?”

“You’re more a fool than I imagined if you thought clothes would be important on this trip.”

Her skin buzzed with his words as she looked away. Behind them, the road became a gnarled string, long forgotten, useful only so far as it might trace their path home. 

“I suppose if you had it your way, I would have brought nothing at all.”

“Would that be so awful, Jailbait? You, cooped up in a cabin, reliant upon my whim and prowess?” He rolled his tongue in a purr and she laughed.

“One of these days, your humor will land you in trouble.” 

“My Dear,” blindly reaching for her hand, he lifted it until he was pressing her fingers to his lips, “it already has.” 

All at once impossibly nervous, she pulled away, looked out the window again. “So. What’s the plan for once we get in?”

“The way I figure it, I’ll put things away while you prepare dinner.”

“Dinner?” she cocked her eyebrow. 

“I’m sorry, were you NOT planning on eating this week?”

“It’s just… I can’t cook.”

“Well,” he kissed his teeth, “you better learn fast, if you’re going to earn your keep.” 

Suddenly anxious, she looked out the window again. The deep greens seemed less friendly now.

“You brought things for cooking?”

“Well,  _ I  _ wasn’t going to let us starve out here. Really,” he laughed. “You’re such a silly thing.”

“Do you have any-”

Groaning, he craned his head back, “See, you tell me you aren’t spoiled, and then the moment I give you a  _ single  _ responsibility, it becomes an issue-”

“You’re right! You’re right. I’m sorry.” She touched his shoulder and he smiled.

“Believe me, by the end of this week, we’ll have taken care of that attitude.”

“Oh?”

“Exposure therapy, Jailbait. Nothing to cure a spoiled brat like some nice hard work.”

“What type of work?”

“Any and all. Did you suppose firewood chopped itself?” He scoffed. “I know you could pay others to live your life for you, but really-”

“I’m sorry. I’ll do a good job, I promise.”

“Yes, I like my women hardworking. Keeps them nice and docile.” Laughing, he placed a hand on her knee. 

“I wouldn’t think you like docile things, Sir.” Innards still chattering, she watched the road unwind before them.

“Any wild animal can be great fun once tamed. Say, for example, you had an extremely wiley little girl. It might be in your best interest to tucker her out so that by the time she’s ready for bed, the little nympho only has energy for a few rounds before she finally lets you sleep.” Again, he laughed.

“You think I’ll keep you up, Sir?”

“Don’t worry about it, Jailbait.” He squeezed her leg. “If it were up to me, you would never leave my bed.”

“Yes?”

“Yes,” he smiled at her with all his teeth. “The world’s a scary place. You need someone looking out for you.”

Quiet, she looked out the front window again. “It’s lucky I’ve got you.”

Content, he hums, “Very lucky indeed.” 


End file.
